ftrt B, POLEVOI Ov irresistible desire to see, not read, but see those old letters—the contents of which he knew by heart—that lay in his tunic pocket, to look at the photograph of the slim girl sitting in the meadow-. He made an attempt to reach his tunic, but his arm dropped helplessly upon the mattress. Again everything floated in that grey gloom spotted with rainbow-coloured rings. Later, in that gloom, which rustled with curious stabbing sounds, he heard two voices—Varya's and another, the voice of an old woman that was also familiar to him. They spoke in whispers. "He doesn't eat?" "No, he can't. Yesterday he chewed a piece of flat cake—the tiniest bit—and it made him vomit. That's no food for him! He takes a little milk, so we give him some." "Look, I've brought some broth-----Perhaps the poor boy would like a little broth." "Aunty Vasilisa!" exclaimed Varya. "Have you really...." "Yes, it's chicken broth. What are you surprised at? Nothing extraordinary about it. Wake him up, perhaps he'll take a little." And before Alexei—who had heard this conversation- could open his eyes, Varya shook him vigorously, un- ceremoniously, and cried out with joy: "Alexei Petrovich! Alexei Petrovich! Wake up! Grandma Vasilisa has brought you some chicken broth! Wake up, I say!" The rushlight stuck in the wall near the door splut- tered and burned up brighter. In the flickering, smoky light Alexei saw a little, bent old woman with a hooked nose and wrinkled, shrewish face. She was busying herself at the table unwrapping something large; first she re- moved a piece of sackcloth, then an old woman's coat, then a sheet of paper, and finally exposed a small iron pot which filled the dugout with such a delicious odour of fat chicken broth that Alexei felt spasms in his empty stomach. Grandma Vasilisa's wrinkled face preserved its stern and shrewish expression. "There, I've brought you this," she said. "Please, don't refuse it Eat it and get well. Perhaps, please God, it will do you good."